Tainted Perfection
by Schermionie
Summary: Juxtaposition. Two extremes together. Fred and George struggle to define their feelings for one another. SLASH, TWINCEST, etc. Don't like, don't read. Twoshot.
1. Fred

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, which, of course, includes Fred and George, ect. 

Summary: Juxstaposition equals two extremes together. Fred and George struggle to define their feelings for one another. SLASH, TWINCEST, ect. Don't like, don't read. One-shot.

Rating: M (maybe that's too high but I'm not taking any chances, considering the content of the second chapter too.)

My first shot at F/G. Please don't shoot me. Please review. And if you want to flame me my advice would be to go stick your head in a pig. Con crit is of course welcome, however.

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War. War is so twisted and nothing is certain, nothing is a constant. In this confusing world it was only natural for me to reach towards the one person who knew me better than anyone else. It was okay for me to hold him close, cling onto him like I would lose him any minute. Completely natural is how we defined and justified our relationship. 

We were careful, of course, oh so careful; secret smiles when no one was looking, hands, shoulders brushing accidentally. No one seemed to notice or care. They were too preoccupied with their own troubles.

As the years went by we grew bolder. We slept in the same bed, like when we were little and it was considered cute that we lay, tangled up together. Now it was weird but I suppose they figured it was a twin thing, a phase. We felt sure they'd notice the way we looked at each other at dinner when our feet touched accidentally (or more often than not it wasn't accidental), the way our eyes shined when we were with each other. But they didn't. They couldn't distinguish how close twins would act and how we would act. People do not often see what they don't think will be there, or what they don't want to see.

It was there all right, whether anyone wanted it or not.

When it was too dangerous to live in Diagon Alley, when the Ministry insisted all the shops be shut, we had to move back home again, away from our jests and jokes. It was much harder to conceal what we were doing now, much harder to lie, so we took chances; foolish chances, though they still didn't seem to suspect. Our family went on fighting Voldemort and evil, so none of us concentrated on each other so much.

Still, when we kept stealing kisses behind closed doors, in the attic, in the bathroom, at the bottom of the garden, we were sure they'd find us, locked in passionate embrace. They never did.

And the war raged on and on and through it all we tried our utmost to curb our feelings. Everything was so out of control. We were screwed, in all senses of the word.

One Christmas, when our family had tried to hold everyone together and act with a bit of the holiday spirit (as if that would lighten our mood), we were almost caught.

There had been nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Dad was putting up decorations everywhere, helped by Ginny, and wherever we went they'd probably find us. Mum was in the kitchen, cooking a large amount of food that no one would probably be able to finish; war often makes you lose your appetite. Bill and Charlie were over, lounging in their rooms, probably too uptight to come downstairs. Ron, Harry and Hermione were god knows where. Probably in Ron's room but we couldn't be too sure. Our room could hardly grant us the privacy we needed…

The only place had been the living room. I don't remember which one of us came up with the crazy idea of going behind the Christmas tree, but I hope it wasn't me. I can't imagine myself being that stupid.

That's what we did, anyway, and when it fell over we went right with it. George was on top of me, breathing heavily. When Mum and Ginny rushed in we made it out to be just another of our pranks, laughed when Mum started shouting.

That was the first time I doubted my long time belief that they knew nothing about what was going on between us. Of course I caught the look Hermione gave us when she saw our rumpled clothes, swollen, bruised lips, our ruffled hair.

Hermione. That was her last Christmas. Tortured to death by the enemy...

I told him we had to break it off. Neither of us wanted it in the first place, but it was one of the only things we had left. _We _only really had each other. The most time we managed apart was a few days, and that was difficult enough.

When we got back together, I was happy. Happy to snog my twin, my brother? Sick. Happy that I had someone when everyone was dying? Selfish. Happy that I could go on like this forever, disregarding everything else just for one touch of his lips, one look… Stupid.

Years later, the war was over, peace was finally brought to the land, evil had been eradicated, people could get their lives back on track…blah, blah, blah. Did they really think the conflict would ever truly end? Maybe Voldemort was gone, but somehow I don't see the issue disappearing at all, it will always be there and the loss this generation feels will never go.

We were able to re-open our shop, go back to living in our tiny flat with only one bedroom… Able to cowardly hide behind our jokes and laughter again. It made things easier, but never better. We were still… together. It haunted me, appalled the both of us, but we couldn't stop it. We were bound tightly and neither of us could untie the knot we'd created.

Customers would pour into the room, their eyes roving over the many products adorning the shelves, children enthralled by the endless possibilities, parents glancing disapprovingly around. We didn't show our affection for each other, the smiles on our faces did not portray our real selves, the chaos of our lives. No one saw the way I'd casually slip his hand into mine, or how we'd disappear to the back of the shop even when it was full and a long line stretched in front of the counter.

Some days it grew too much and we'd walk out, hand in hand, sitting at the bar of _The Leaky Cauldron _and toasting 'to us'. People turned a blind eye, the other cheek. They didn't want to accept the truth. Neither did we.

We've always hated rules, loved to break them, and I still do. There was one rule between us, however, and that one rule was never broken. The Forbidden word was never uttered by either me or him. It would make it all too real. The wrong we were doing, the way I couldn't help but stare at him and wonder what it would be like to be _his. _To tell the whole world about us, to shout it out loud and clear. They could never ignore it then, could they? It infuriated me, how we couldn't be together like a normal couple. But we _weren't _a normal couple, and that infuriated me more.

Saying the word, embracing even more taboos, would be acknowledging the wrongs we were committing. We would rather stay under the delusion that had held fast since it began, until we could hardly tell the truth from the false. But the truth was still there, a terrible contrast to the beauty of our relationship; tainted perfection.

Finally we heard the Forbidden word spat by someone who dared say it to our face. We got more involved than ever before, there was an intensity between us that was previously unmatched. You could feel the tension in the air. Our kisses became even more urgent, our…_ love making _becoming even more frantic.

Now that it had been said, we had to admit to ourselves what we felt. Revulsion. Deep in our hearts and minds we loathed each other for what we were doing.

We never voiced it, but we knew exactly why we'd become further caught up with each other. It was final. We couldn't continue this, not with the world watching, not with the truth now laid so bare.

I left him. I left the pain, the suffering, right with him. He was the cause of it, so I left him. I moved far away, where no one had ever heard of the Weasley family, no one knew me there. I had a new life.

Ron was the last person in our family I saw before I went. He told me not to leave, said it would break Mum's heart. Ever since Dad and Ginny were murdered she's been confined to the house and her memories. I doubt she'd even notice if everyone left her to her melancholy.

At first, me and Ron managed to keep in touch. He begged me to return, said Mum was even worse, but from what I heard, I doubt he'd really know. He was too busy shagging Harry fucking Potter to notice. I guess I'm not the only messed up one of the family.

Now we don't talk. I have no connections with my old life. I've found a girl, settled down…I'm living my mother's dream and existing in a nightmare.

Whenever she and I kiss, I close my eyes and imagine it's him. His kisses were wonderful and they sent shivers down my spine and clouded my brain like hers never will.

When he and I kissed, we always kept our eyes open, locked in furious battle as we both tried to control our emotions, which would have been visible only to the other. We've known each other our whole lives and are unable to hide anything from each other. I could tell he felt the same disgusted delight as I did whenever we kissed and I could feel him trembling as he fought the urge to pull me closer or push me away.

In one word, our feelings were juxtaposed. Two extremes together.

I don't love her; I can't love anyone else but George. Yes, that's what it was. _Love_.

I think she realises that I can't love her, too. She doesn't mention it though, not anymore. Once, in the aftermath, she asked me if I loved her. When I remained silent she sighed and told me everyone has insecurities.

My insecurity is him. Whenever I walk through the streets I still hear that word, it echoes through my mind and I wonder if they know all about it. It will hang over my head forever, just as it will for him. I can still see him now, twisting his fingers nervously before our first kiss. We were so young. His hair always hung over his face and sparkling blue eyes that I loved and hated so much… I'm so tempted just to go back to him and take him in my arms and despise and adore every moment of it but every time I think that I force myself to whisper the word and the urge vanishes instantly.

_Incest._

Some hearts are meant to ache, some love is meant to break.


	2. George

Disclaimer: I don't own Fred and George, or indeed any other Harry Potter characters. Nor places, nor spells or anything. J.K. Rowling does.

This chapter: You've heard Fred, now George.

A/N: Originally this was a oneshot but someone added this to their alerts and I couldn't resist the challenge. Oh yeah Harry/Ron was in the first chapter and it's here too. Please review! I hope this isn't really bad, but I won't know unless you tell me.

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I remember our first kiss. Fred doesn't.

We were seven.

It was so soft, so sweet at first. A butterfly kiss. His lips barely grazed mine, his arms barely encircled my body. It became more heated. His hands roved everywhere, he pulled me so close and I could barely think…

Mum found us then. I saw her eyes at the door. Fred didn't. When she came in, I was so scared; even then I think I knew it was wrong for us to kiss like that. I don't know what possessed me to do it in the first place.

When she came in, Fred drew away from me slowly and I could see it, when he looked at me. It was there even then, and I felt sick.

Mum could see it too, but she only told us never to do that again. It was wrong, we were related, we must never do that ever again…

Fred soon forgot about our kiss, though it was still there, in his eyes. The way he stared at me when he thought I wasn't looking, the way he'd brush his hand so lightly across my cheek when we were alone, the way he'd always stand so near to me.

And I let him. We got older but he didn't stop. We were always so close and in all the chaos I think he must have just been reaching out to me, reaching out for someone to hold onto.

So when he pushed me against the wall, I let him. I let him taste me, run his hands through my hair. I let him cling on to me when he was down.

Then he wanted more from me, and I gave it.

Fred thought they were completely oblivious to our little affair, even when we'd made it so obvious. I knew different. Sometimes I'd hear them whisper, other times I'd actually see them stare. And I always caught the disgusted glances they gave us after we'd just fucked each other. They knew all right.

By this time, we were barely even bothering to mask it, although I think Fred still held onto the foolish belief that they had no idea what we were doing. Our make-out spots were becoming even stupider; the shed, the garage, the kitchen counters, Ginny's wardrobe, under desks and tables, the fridge… there was no limit to the places we managed to find. Hell, we even _showered_ together. That's not forgetting that memorable Christmas when we snogged behind the tree, surrounded by shiny objects and mistletoe.

We didn't talk about it. We never discussed our relationship.

When the war ended, we moved back to Diagon Alley and didn't have to worry about getting caught any more. This was our flat; no one would be coming in without our permission.

And because the pain hadn't ended I was still screwing him whenever he desired, which was basically all of our spare time. He needed me, we were all tortured by Ginny and Dad's death, and he needed me to be there for him and him only.

I guess I needed him, too, but I could never stand to admit that to myself. I didn't want to dwell on how I'd let myself get sucked in, how I depended solely on another. But I held no delusions over what we were doing. I was shagging a mirror and liking it.

For Fred it was different. For Fred it was love.

Was I in love?

It hurt so much, there were so many dead and Mum was dead inside. Ron was screwed up, Charlie and Bill didn't give a shit and Percy…well, no one gives a shit about Percy. I only had Fred. When we were lost in each other, we could forget our anguish and focus on the one ever torment.

Touch on touch, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. Pain on pain, sorrow on sorrow, twin on twin.

Was I in love?

_Am _I in love?

There it is again, the all important word. Love. Oh, Merlin, I don't know. Fred knew though. I saw his abhorrence but I also saw the love he had for me. The love that had been there since we were seven and we kissed.

Maybe Fred did remember.

And because he was in love with me it hurt even more for him, I'm sure. When I pulled his shirt over his head and ran my hands over his chest I felt him shudder beneath me. When he looked at me after, the message was plain enough. _Why do you do it, George? Why do you cause me such pain? Why don't you just leave? _And he'd curl up against me.

He was the one to leave, even though I'd always tell him in my kisses that I didn't want him to go. How I'd always show him with my desperate advances that I couldn't live without him, that alone I would break, he ignored it all and left me here to die.

So far I haven't broken, but there are cracks, fissures in my mind. They started out small: his abandoned cloak lying on a chair, collecting dust; a broken glass alone on the table; a half empty bottle of firewhiskey behind the sofa having fallen astray in the heat of the moment

But they get bigger every day.

Whenever people ask me about it, I just grin and pretend it's nothing but I can't keep up the smokescreen for much longer.

And it still really cracks me up. The way they whisper as I walk by, the words they hiss at me… No wonder Fred splintered after just _one_ hateful word from them. I even get threatening owls and howlers sometimes. It's as if I'd murdered and raped a whole bunch of children and gotten away with it. I just fell in love with my brother, is that so bad? They always say that you can't help who you fall in love with, that you should be free to choose without prejudice. They always use that argument for other "abnormal" relationships, so why was my relationship sick? Who are they to label love? They're the ones that make me sick.

I suppose I am in love.

I feel my head beginning to shatter as she stirs beside me. Another girl, another night. She'll be gone in a few minutes and I hope to never see her again.

It's like that now.

That extra freckle on his nose, that extra confident trait, that extra smile for me and me only.

She's fully awake now, she smiles at me but it's not his smile. She swaggers confidently towards the shower, but I don't join her. Why is she still here? Normally they get the message and leave.

Everyone thinks I'm over him now, that I'm absolutely a hundred percent fine. FINE. The only ones who know I'm not, that I can't be, are my family, but Mum's gone and Ron fucks Savior of the wizarding world to escape so there's no one for me there.

No wonder Mum went crazy. We're all fucked up, our lives are utter shit.

It's daunting without Fred. I presume he must have thought it'd all be just peachy if he vanished from my existence, but he was mistaken. We're twins; we're not meant to be isolated from each other, we're not meant to be solitary.

I often wonder about how he's coping. I hope he's managing as abysmally as I am.

All with one word, he left. He couldn't take it the way I could. We both hated it, saw it as depraved but it was the only way of survival for us. It was an insane way to keep sane.

She kisses me at the door and I close my eyes. I close the world and fantasise that it's him moaning into my mouth, that it's his arms that wrap around me and I realise I'm the one making the noises. When she pulls away my eyes flutter open and I crash and burn back into reality. It's not him and it never will be.

"If you know how to kiss like that I'm surprised Fred left," she teases, but I can see the glint of disgust at the thought in her eyes all the same. I look away, furiously fighting against the excruciating wall of emotions that have welled up inside me at the mere mention of his name.

She sighs and pecks me on the cheek, turning to go.

"I'll call." She slams the door and the oppressive silence of seclusion surrounds me.

I race out of my flat, crying out to her retreating back to stay. She twists around and I gaze at her with pleading blue eyes to come back to me, to keep me from my loneliness.

I can't replace him, but I can't be by myself either.


End file.
